


Is it what you call it these days?

by WahlBuilder



Category: Mars: War Logs
Genre: Bad Puns, Fluff, M/M, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 12:03:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11013045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WahlBuilder/pseuds/WahlBuilder
Summary: Three moments when Roy teased and was teased.





	1. Beard

**Author's Note:**

  * For [timekill3r](https://archiveofourown.org/users/timekill3r/gifts).



> For Alex who is the most horrible.

“Is his beard soft?”

“Wha—”

Talking with mouth full of nails was not the best idea, so Roy clamped down on the last three nails and tried to pry away the board he’d been nailing down. It held. He nodded to himself, looked under his feet and started climbing down the ladder. It juddered, but was being held in place by Innocence.

Roy jumped on the ground, spit out the nails and put them and the small hammer into their box.

“You shouldn’t hold nails in your mouth,” Innocence said over the creaking of the ladder he folded.

Roy sat down on the bench, stretched his legs, and turned his face to the warm light of the sun. “Yeah, I know, Innocence. I’m sorry. Bad habit.”

They had a proper tool belt, of course, a thing of beauty made by Tenacity. Roy couldn’t get used to Tenacity’s skills with leather. Unlike Roy’s own produce, effective, but nothing more, Tenacity’s things were art, covered with elaborate embossed designs.

Roy opened one eye, thinking of Tenacity. “You asked something about beards.”

Innocence leaned the ladder on the wall of their house, circled Roy’s legs, and sat on the bench near him. Their shoulders brushed, and Roy felt a faint scent of oily paint coming from Innocence’s hair.

Innocence clutched the edge of the bench.

Roy waited.

“Tenacity’s beard. I wonder whether it’s soft, or…” Color rose to Innocence’s cheeks, and Roy barely suppressed the urge to hug him.

Instead, he glanced at their garden where Tenacity was toiling—there was no other word for it. He did seem to like it. There was always something to do, in the house, in the garden, in the town, an endless row of things to be made, to be fixed, to be upgraded. Moles to hunt.

Most of all Tenacity seemed to like working in the garden. Like Innocence, he had hands for it. Right now, crouching, he was urging a withering sapling to grow stronger—at least, that’s what it looked like. He lifted one hand and wiped his brow, and a smear of red dirt appeared on his forehead.

Roy ached to kiss him.

Tenacity’s hair, a mane of red, had been graying already when Roy had first met him, and his beard had had gray streaks, uneven, asymmetrical, even then.

“Yes,” Roy said, realizing he hadn’t answered Innocence’s question. “His beard is soft.”

_Red hairs tickling his cheek as they kissed, making him gasp when Tenacity moves lower, without urgency, drawing this out…The scratch against the skin of his inner thighs…_

Tenacity looked up and smiled, and Roy felt warm.

“Do you want to touch it? His beard,” he asked, turning to Innocence and still feeling Tenacity’s gaze.

Innocence’s face flared up. “Roy!”

And he couldn’t help but laugh and tease Innocence further, watching color spread over his face. “Why not? It _is_ soft. I’ve touched it plenty of times, but you must experience its glory by yourself.”

For that, he got a jab to the ribs, the sight of Innocence hiding his face in his palms, and glanced at Tenacity. He was looking at them in confusion.

And Roy only smiled and proceeded making suggestions, one more terrible than the other.

It was a warm, slow day.


	2. Crossbow

Roy woke up to a soft clicking, and froze, an image of dark hallways and blurry shadows lurking in the darkness in his mind.

But the bed under him was uncharacteristically soft—the softest he had slept on so far—and bigger than he was used to. Than the Source had sported.

He took a stock of his body without opening his eyes, tensing and relaxing his muscles, focusing on his breathing, and the last tendrils of dread let go of his heart. After that he realized his body had been humming with content.

There was rustling and creaking, then another click, softer this time and more thin, and then crackling of something smoldering—and a thick aroma drifted to Roy. It was bitter and seemed to fill his head along with his lungs when he breathed it in.

The clicking that had woken him up repeated.

Roy opened his eyes.

Tenacity was in the armchair, a cigar between his teeth, hissing softly as he sucked the smoke in. And he had his crossbow on his lap.

“You don’t have to get up yet,” Tenacity said without looking up.

Roy turned onto his side, blew a short red hair off Tenacity’s pillow, then stuffed it under his own head. “If you hadn’t lit your terrible cigar—”

“You woke up before my lighting my terrible cigar.”

Roy did reply to that. Mostly, he was too occupied with watching Tenacity work with his crossbow-rifle. Roy could have described that Tenacity’s fingers moved over the weapon like over the body of a lover, but it would have been a lie. Tenacity’s movements were effective, economical, but that alone carried a smattering of sentimentality.

Tenacity puffed out a cloud of smoke, and for a beat it obscured Roy’s view of Tenacity’s lap.

“May I touch your crossbow?” Roy asked, looking up.

Tenacity held up his cigar. Then smiled. And smiled more. “You called it differently in the night.”

Roy threw a pillow to his head.


	3. Hounds

“He would sell you out.” Charity crossed her legs and threw an arm over the back of the couch. The dimmed warm light softened the lines of the ragged scar on her left cheek. “Why are you sticking with him?”

Roy leaned forward, holding a glass in hands. The rose liquid in it was mostly untouched. His hangover tended to be heavy and terrible, and Roy wanted to keep his head clear with so many people around. Though he appreciated that Charity had poured him some of her most prized wine.

Music was vibrating under Roy’s boots, and a few dancers were losing themselves on the dance floor. Small lamps were swayed by their movement, making it hard to count how many people were dancing.

Roy looked at the bar. Tenacity’s back, clad in the leather of his jacket, was turned to him. A small woman with short hair was inclined to Tenacity, but Tenacity didn’t turn to her. Roy couldn’t say what they were speaking about. Maybe about a new contract for Tenacity, maybe the woman was just flirting with him. If she was hoping to move it somewhere more serious, she would be disappointed.

Nobody approached Roy. He suspected it was because he was sitting with Charity. Maybe because people had seen him coming here with Tenacity.

He was grateful for the quiet—so to speak.

He shrugged, dangling the glass. It was a good, genuine piece of glass with a slight blue tinge. “He won’t sell me out, Charity, though I appreciate your concern.”

“Why are you so sure of that? He’s a headhunter, and your pretty head costs a fortune.”

Roy glanced at her, then back at Tenacity. Tenacity turned to the woman—Roy couldn’t see her face clearly, but the profile looked very nice. Tenacity’s profile was very nice, too.

Roy shrugged again. He didn’t think of himself as a person who only operated on cold calculation and reason, and he wasn’t all emotion either. Tenacity was a headhunter, yes—but Roy trusted him like nobody else. “I just know. He has good hounds.”

The woman leaned closer to Tenacity and apparently said something to him, and Tenacity inclined away from her, as if in disbelief.

Roy realized that Charity was uncharacteristically silent, and turned to her.

She gave him an incredulous look. “Hounds. Really. Is that what you call it?” She lifted her wine to her lips and smiled. “I would like to pet those hounds.”

Roy laughed and saluted her with his glass. “Tough! He only allows boys to pet his hounds.”

Charity pouted. “Is that so?” Then the lamps swung again, making Charity’s eyes glint. “So, is that it? You trust him because you and him—”

“No.” Roy shook his head. It was the other way around, even though the trust had been strange and immediate. Maybe simply because Tenacity had been the first person to not try to kill Roy. “It’s not like that. But,” he added, aiming not distract Charity, “I did pet his hounds.”

She chuckled. It was a warm sound. “Oh, I’m sure you did. You would have been the gem in my crown, you know. I always thought that.”

Once, Charity had offered him that job, in the beginning of their acquaintance. His face must have taken such a fun color that Charity swiftly apologized, and hadn’t brought it up for a long time.

“Yeah. You do.” He smiled, showing that he understood it was a joke. “But I’m working with him right now.” He pointed at Tenacity.

The woman had left Tenacity at some point, and for now he was the only one sitting by the bar, wrapped in shadows.

The beat under Roy’s feet was strong and even. Roy looked at his glass. Then tasted the wine. It was sweet and rich, just like Charity liked. He put the glass down on the low table, got up.

“Going to pet his hounds?” Charity said. Roy glanced at her, but she couldn’t hide her smirk behind her wine.

Roy smiled in reply, trying to produce one of Tenacity’s slow, handsome smiles. “Something like that.” And he went to the bar.


End file.
